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The Library

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I walk by Thoreau,

And give him a little smile,

While he laughs at the self-help book I’m shelving.

“Ha!” he seems to say.

“Why, you can find your “help” in the woods,

Where the fruit of mystery awaits you.”



I give Shakespeare a welcome glance,

As I hold a children’s picture book.

“Yes,” he explains,

“Let their minds become sharp

With the knowledge they discover.

Let their imaginations soar through the depths of life.”



Walt Whitman is contradicting himself

In a dusty corner as the morning light tickles him.

“Your very flesh is a great poem,”

He tells me,

“Marvel in the silent sun

To figure out your poem’s feelings.”



As I turn to leave the quiet sanctuary.

Ray Bradbury calls to me from a distant place,

His voice echoing through the building.

“There are worse crimes then burning books.”

He says,
“One of them is not reading them.”





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This article has 3 comments. Post your own now!

InkWriter13 said...
Jun. 23, 2012 at 12:58 pm
Awesome poem! Your ending is spectacular! I LOVED it. Amazing, amazing. You are brilliant. Witty, clever. I love how you used the different authors and interacted them with yourself. And, of course, Libraries are the best place for any up and coming writer/author. Keep writing always! Would you please comment on my work titled the Printer and Earth's Children?
 
WithPenAndScript said...
Aug. 5, 2011 at 4:27 pm

I meant to rate it 5 stars but accidently hit 4 :( poopy. 

anyway, I love this poem. As always your last line just clicks, perfectly, with the rest of the poem. I loved the flow of it and the  references to the authors/poets/etc (THOREAU <3)

 
Vidra This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Aug. 5, 2011 at 8:54 pm
Haha yes that happpens to me sometimes too. :) Thank you for the compliments, and yes, Thoreau is one of my favorites too. :)
 
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